Lance's teeth chattered as Chris unpacked the 4-Runner, slinging the bags over his shoulders then slamming the trunk shut with his chin. It was so cold, and the snow was up to Lance's knees. With shaking hands, Lance tugged his hat lower then put his gloved hands back under his armpits. It was late evening and already frigid.
"You're a suck, Bass," Chris said, shaking his head. "This is nothing."
Lance's retort involved the word Mississippi, which had been recently banned from his vocabulary. Chris decided it was annoying, and since whatever Chris thought was obviously gospel, Lance got a wet finger in the ear whenever he used it. Lance was going to say it anyway when he slipped on an icy patch by the path up to the door.
"Fuck!" Lance cried, lying flat on his back, and Chris's head appeared over him, his forehead wrinkled with mild concern. Lance sighed painfully and closed his eyes. "I hate snow, Chris. There is nothing good about this at all."
"Yes, there is. This is our romantic getaway because you decided I wasn't being boyfriend enough for your sappy ass. And fuck, are you okay? Should I be getting a doctor for you or something?" Chris toed him lightly with his boot then started shouting. "Hey, Bass! Hey, are you with me? Are you still alive? Do you need medical assistance? Are we going to be able to have sex, or should I start looking now for a boyishly handsome replacement?"
Lance laughed then stood up on shaking legs, nearly falling again. The ice was everywhere, and it was impossible to see in the dark. He grabbed hold of Chris, who went sliding away like a stick of butter, and they both ended up on the ground, the largest suitcase flying open and sending boxer shorts sailing everywhere.
"Good lord," Lance said, smacking his forehead with his mitt. "I'm really regretting the plans for the Carribean fell through, Chris, you have no idea. What are we doing in Minnesota, in the middle of winter, for Pete's sake? I hate snow."
"We're here because this was the best I could do on short notice, all right?"
Lance pinched his eyes closed, his entire back numb and aching, and his head hurt from where it'd hit the concrete, the snow providing very little cushioning. It was one more reason to hate it. "I wouldn't be lying here wounded if we were in the Bahamas."
"Fuck, Bass, the best part about winter is spending half of it on your back," Chris said, rolling until he was on top of Lance, and Lance smirked at him. "No, seriously. You see, it's the body heat thing. You are much warmer than the snow, so I want to get as close as possible, and this, Bass," Chris pressed down on Lance, bringing Lance's legs around his waist and hooking them together, "is pretty damn close."
"I can't feel much of anything, actually," Lance admitted. "It's fucking cold, Kirkpatrick. Now, get me through that door, and you can do whatever you want, but in about a minute, this ass is going to be pretty useless to all parties involved."
Chris sighed and got up, backing away when Lance stumbled to his feet, arms flying out to grab the handrail. Chris collected the rogue underpants and met Lance at the door, a bemused expression on his face. Lance smiled and kissed him.
"I forgive you for exiling me in the middle of Minnesota," Lance said seriously, and Chris laughed, shaking his head as he opened the door. Lance stepped in first, mouth slightly open as he looked around, clapping his hands in delight. "Oh, wow. It's all wood. It's beautiful."
"You used to say those things about me, Bass, my heart breaks with every cruel thing to leave your mouth," Chris said, sighing tragically, and Lance grinned at him, yanking him close. They wrestled to see who would get the upper hand in the hug, and Chris won, holding Lance's arms to his body. "Dude, you are going to love Minnesota by the time I'm done with you, just you wait. Where there's a Kirkpatrick will, there's a Bass way."
"We'll see," Lance said, breaking Chris's grip on his arms to brush the snow off his ass, "we'll see, Chris."
~~~
Chris started right in on trying to get Lance to feel the love for Minnesota, tackling him before they even got past the main room. They settled into a tangle on the floor, desperate for touch, and when Chris spread his legs, Lance nearly broke his own hip trying to help him out.
"This, Bass, is called fucking in front of the fire, and it's fucking romantic," Chris said, thrusting into Lance's body, slow and steady, just like Lance liked it. Lance nodded, tightening his legs around Chris's hips, his skin cool save for the heat of Chris himself and the roaring burn of the fire. "Let us take a moment to gaze longingly at each other."
Lance moaned when Chris sat up, Lance's ass resting on Chris's knees, his cock thrust obscenely upwards, and Lance fought to concentrate on anything other than the shoots of pleasure sparking in his lower back. "It's, uh. Really nice, Chris."
"You aren't even focussing your eyes," Chris said, laughing and slapping at Lance's chest, and Lance blinked, his eyes crossing despite his best efforts. Instead, he wiggled his ass and tried to encourage Chris to hurry the fuck up already. Chris poked him hard in the belly. "No, come on. Look at me. Look at us. Bass, Bass, pay attention. Gaze longingly at me, damn it."
Lance's eyes finally came into focus, and he lifted his hand, running the pads of his fingers over Chris's chin then up his face, to his nose and his forehead. When Chris grinned, Lance pulled on his lower lip. Still, he wasn't too convinced. "We can do this at home, you know."
"Yeah, but your fireplace is a fucking novelty. This, man, this roaring fire that I laboured over to get burning --"
"You flipped a switch on the wall --"
"I intended to lug firewood into the house --"
"Despite the fact it's electric --"
"I had to listen to you nag like an old woman for hours and hours in the car, which you're doing right now, by the way, and it's killing the mood, Bass," Chris finished, pinching at Lance's nipples. Lance looked at him, bemused. Chris sighed. "Oh, hey, at least I'm trying to be rustic and northern here. You're just whining."
"I'll stop whining if you start moving, or I'm going to march upstairs to this amazing bedroom you keep telling me about and jerk off. Here, look, I'm gazing longingly at you, okay?" And Lance stared as hard as he could until Chris shoved at his head, smirking.
"Okay, that's just creepy. Cut it out."
"Then fuck me already," Lance said, laughing, and Chris fucked. Lance just held on tightly, his knees by his ears, and when it was over, he wasn't sure he'd ever walk again. Chris rolled over onto his back and scrubbed at his belly with an idle hand. Lance wanted a cigarette.
"Well, that was." Chris waved his hand in the air. "You know?"
"Uh-huh," Lance replied, his dick still twitching.
"Right," Chris said. "So. Want to go again?"
Lance sure did.
~~~
They finally got upstairs once they'd done it on the table, and over the back of the couch, and pressed against the cold window, with Lance's nipples leaving weird swirly designs in the fog on the glass. Chris claimed the answer to the universe lay in the patterns. Lance called him a moron but said so fondly.
"Oh my god!" Lance cried. The interior decorator in him -- which was loosely based on hours of watching Martha Stewart late at night during bouts of extreme insomnia -- exploded with unbridled joy at the sight of the room. He ran to the bed and jumped on it. "God, Chris. You're so. Look at this place! How did you find it?"
"Lance, I hate to tell you this," Chris said, "but I think you might be gay."
Lance grinned and grabbed Chris when he passed to drop Lance's special feather pillow on his side of the bed. Chris bounced onto the mattress, and Lance climbed over him, smacking huge, wet kisses all over his face. "I love it! Do you understand? I love it!"
"I think I missed it. Can you --"
Chris's witty retort was swallowed by Lance's tongue as he pressed Chris to the bed with a kiss, holding him down by the hips. Lance let him up only because Lance wanted to check out the bathroom, so he ran off, buck naked, to look, leaving Chris well-kissed and sprawled.
Lance squealed. He tried to stop himself, even pressed his hands to his mouth, but it escaped, and he could hear Chris howling in the other room. Chris knew, he knew, Lance's secret weakness was sexy interior design. It's why they lived at Lance's place. Chris thought hanging beer posters on the wall counted as classy.
Lance climbed into the tub, which was huge, and stood there, looking around. There were mirrors on the ceiling, and a toilet with a bidet, and a porcelain sink. Lance was dying, he was sure of it, and he bounced back to Chris in the bedroom. He threw himself on the dark cherry-wood bed, which was decorated with flannel bed sheets and canvas curtains. It was like living in the Gap. Lance was practically giddy with joy.
"Pajamas?" Chris asked, producing a pair of plaid PJs. Lance's secret dream -- that he tried not to tell too many people about due to how embarrassing and lame it was, and that Chris only knew because Lance couldn't lie with a dick in his ass -- was to have a partner who wore matching bedclothes. Chris was already dressed.
"You remembered," Lance said, taking the pajamas from Chris and putting them on, loving how warm and comfortable they were. He thought he was getting a bit sniffly, so he turned away for a second. "They're just. This is amazing, Chris."
"You big romantic sap," Chris said fondly. "Come on. Let's go to bed."
Lance nodded and climbed in, lifting his arm so Chris could settle underneath it. They kissed good night, letting it linger for a moment before Lance smiled at Chris in the dark. Lance was out like a light in minutes, with Chris already snoring in his ear.
~~~
Lance woke up at four in the morning, shivering to death. He wasn't sure that was even possible, but his jaw hurt from how tightly it was clenched, so he thought maybe it was. Chris had rolled away during the night, and Lance couldn't get him to budge from where he lay perched, clinging to the edge of the bed.
Lance got up and fiddled with the thermostat, but what did he know about comfortable room temperatures? His air conditioner was programmed to come on automatically and in Germany all the dials had been in Celsius and rarely worked anyway. He turned it a bit to the left then to the right then gave up, his feet almost sticking to the hardwood floors it was so cold in the room. Balancing on the tips of his toes, he galloped back to the bed.
"What's wrong?" Chris mumbled, voice heavy from sleep, and Lance didn't want to say. It was suddenly going so well, and he didn't want to ruin anything by whining again. So far, save for the climate, Chris had done just about everything right, if Lance overlooked the slight detour that ended up getting them lost for five hours and the fact they were in Minnesota at all. "Cold?"
"Yeah," Lance said, ready to defend himself, but Chris just climbed onto him and settled comfortably, eyes still closed. He was big and warm, which is what Lance needed, and Chris reached back to tug the blankets up to their chins.
"The thing about nighttime is the body heat issue again," Chris muttered, still mostly asleep, and his voice was so low that Lance had to strain to listen. "You sleep with as many bodies as you can find, and if they roll away during the night, you wake them up and make them come back. Or you sleep in dirty laundry, and I did the wash on the Thursday, so."
Lance winced. Chris rarely talked about growing up, inferred that it was harsh and usually left it at that, but Lance knew about the laundry, and the cold, and suddenly, he thought maybe he understood why Chris didn't like to speak about it. Lance probably wouldn't either, if he'd lived in a broken down trailer in the middle of a Pennsylvanian winter and knew what it felt like to be truly chilled to the bone.
"Stop empathising with me and go to sleep, okay? We have a busy day tomorrow, and I expect some morning head, Lance, so save your tongue." Chris kissed him sleepily with a tangy mouth, eyes still pressed firmly shut. "Wake me up if I roll again, all right?"
Lance nodded, drifting back to sleep, finally warm.
~~~
Lance woke Chris up with an enthusiastic blowjob then went to make breakfast as Chris put on his face. That was Chris-talk for trimming his goatee, which required a strict regiment of constant preening. Lance didn't have the heart to tell Chris that the horns made him look psychotic. Chris thought they were on the cutting edge of style.
Lance slid on the nearest pair of identical slippers and pulled the matching housecoat over his body, tying the belt around his waist. He walked downstairs, still tired but awake nonetheless, and turned on the fireplace, standing in front of it to savour the heat.
When Lance heard, "Heeeeere she cooooomes, Miss Ameeeeeriiiiica," he put the last of the food on the table then clapped politely as Chris came down the stairs, waving majestically. They kissed good morning then sat down, Chris already with a mouthful of pancake.
"You're getting better at these," Chris commented, chewing, and Lance bit into his own, the doughy batter sticking to his teeth. Lance swallowed with the aid of a big glass of orange juice as Chris chewed thoughtfully. "You might want to cook them a bit more, next time."
"Indeed," Lance said, munching crunchy bacon. "So, what's on the agenda today?"
Chris cracked his knuckles. "Well, Bass. First, I'm going to toss you into a pair of snow-pants, then we're going outside to embrace nature and play in the snow. Later, we're going to screw for hours and check out the hot tub in the deck, in no particular order."
"Sounds delightful," Lance replied, grinning, and they finished the rest of the meal in silence, Chris's foot working its steady way up Lance's leg as Chris played coy. They kissed for a bit, but Chris's desire to see Lance in snow-pants was evidently stronger than his need to screw prematurely.
"How do you move in these things?" Lance asked, trying to squat as Chris adjusted the rainbow suspenders. Chris just squeezed his ass and laughed then fitted himself into a pair of black ones, zipping up. "Are my boots waterproof?"
"Hold on!" Chris cried, and Lance looked up as Chris came rushing at him with plastic baggies. Shoving Lance to the couch, Chris lifted Lance's foot and put the bag over it then reached for his boot. "If you put these on first, your feet will definitely not get wet. You'll look like an utter dork, but at least you're dry, which is more than the fuckers who teased you can say."
Lance looked at his feet, feeling the plastic crinkle when he wiggled his toes. "I take it you learned this the hard way."
"Yep," Chris said, bagging his own feet then bending over to lace his footwear. "I wore the same pair of winter boots for six years. We used to buy them sizes too big, just so they'd last longer, and by the end, they were just falling apart."
Lance leaned over and kissed Chris on the neck, holding his face there for a moment to breath. Chris reached back and folded his hand over the one Lance had on his shoulder, and Lance kissed him again, just one more time before pulling back. Slapping Lance's knee then squeezing, Chris stood up.
"Hat," Chris said and plopped one down on Lance's head. He got his own -- the crazy one that he wore on Regis and kept the whole world guessing -- then wrapped Lance up in a scarf, tucking the ends under Lance's armpits and into his snow-pants. Lance stood there and let him, chuckling when Chris zipped Lance into his coat and got his nose. "There we go. You're winter-proofed."
"I can't move," Lance said, smiling. His voice was muffled by the jacket.
"Mobility is not what we're going for; we're trying to achieve maximum warmth. Sure, in the end, the cold is going to cut right through that five-hundred-dollar coat, but at least you'll have gone down valiantly." Chris patted Lance's ass then put on his own jacket, reaching for his gloves. "All right. Now we venture outside and hope for the best."
The best, Lance realised, was really fucking cold. He was warm for about a minute then his nose went numb and it was all downhill from there, but he didn't say a word, especially not when Chris took his hand. Chris dragged him along for a while then Lance caught up, looking around with his hat slipping down over his eyes. He tugged it back up, scratching at the line above his eyebrows. It was itchy.
Lance watched Chris awhile, feeling giddy, and Chris eventually turned to look back, an eyebrow raised. Taking Chris's face in his hand, Lance kissed him smack on the mouth, and Chris bit him on the nose lightly when he pulled back. They made out for a while, Lance pressed up against a tree with light snowy bits fluttering down from the branches above.
"Would you be mad if I snow-jobbed you?" Chris asked, and Lance looked at him curiously. He assumed Chris meant a blowjob in the snow, which was a nice thought, but Lance was all packed in and would have to get naked, and he didn't think he liked that particular idea very much. Chris, of course, didn't wait for an answer.
Lance screeched as Chris wrestled him to the ground and started shoving snow in his face until Lance was spluttering and wet. Wriggling, Lance managed to flip Chris onto his stomach and return the favour. They were laughing by the time Lance cried out -- "Mercy! Oh lord almighty, Chris! Mercy!" -- in the strongest accent either of them had heard come out of his mouth in years.
"Fuck! You can take the boy out of Mississippi, but you can't take the Mississippi out of the boy!" Chris shouted, tears squirting out of the corners of his eyes, and Lance just howled, clutching his stomach and rolling around. "Oh mah lawd, mistah Bass."
Lance wailed with laughter, shaking his head in a blind attempt to make him stop. Chris knew how much his bad Southern accents amused him; they'd done a skit for the PopOdyssey tour that had taken two days to film because they couldn't stop laughing and take it seriously. Even when they did settle down, they ended up sneaking off and fucking in the nearest utility closet.
"Stop, stop," Lance gasped as Chris opened his mouth, and he clamped his hand over Chris's grin, still able to feel the warmth of his breath through the mitt. "Chris, please. I'm going to piss my pants and then I won't leave the cabin at all."
"Okay," Chris promised, wiping at his eyes with his gloves as he laughed the last of it out, panting as he tried to calm down. "But shit, man. Next time you put on the drawl that thickly, give a guy some warning, all right?"
"Oh, ah will do, suh," Lance drawled.
They laughed themselves stupid in the snow.
~~~
They made snow angels, and Chris pissed Lance's name in the snow, which Lance thought was pretty sweet because he was half naked while doing it. Lance held his coat helpfully and didn't even mind when Chris decided his name was actually "Lanc" because he couldn't quite manage to squeeze out an E.
They walked for hours, Lance figured, holding hands and talking quietly, which was so nice. They spent so much time together on the road and in the studio and on tour, yet it never seemed like it was just them in the world. This, Lance decided, was a good idea, even if he was cold and wet and uncomfortable. Even if he was pretty sure he still hated Minnesota.
Back at the cabin, Chris undressed Lance slowly, kissing each bit of flesh as it was uncovered then wrapped him up in big, woolly blankets, naked by the fire. Chris disrobed quickly then slipped between Lance's legs, back resting against Lance's chest. They cocooned in the comforters until they were warm. Chris looked up.
"Love you, baby," he said, grinning.
"Love you, too," Lance said and kissed him on the forehead. Leaving his hands on Chris's face, he played with his hair, pulling it back, puffing it out, as the fire roared. The sun was already setting, despite the fact it was barely five o'clock, and the room was embraced in a soft glow. "Do you want dinner?"
"Maybe in a little while. I'll cook," Chris added, and under the blankets, his hands massaged Lance's shins, twirling through the light, pale hair. Lance sighed deeply and closed his eyes, gently stroking Chris's head.
Lance dozed off, and when he woke up, Chris was at the stove, making pasta. He was wearing his flannel pajama-bottoms but was bare above the waist. Lance's pajamas were sitting on the coffee table, and Lance pulled them on, sniffing at the fabric. They weren't his, he realised, they were Chris's. They smelled like him, all Old Spice deodorant and cheap shampoo.
"Hey," Lance said, sliding his arms around Chris's waist. "That smells good."
"Third time's the charm," Chris replied, and Lance could feel him grin even if he couldn't see it. Lance kissed the base of his neck, nuzzling lightly as Chris stirred the noodles, humming. Glancing over, Lance saw two charred pots with caked on noodles. Chris laughed. "Dude, you slept straight through it, too. That second one. Flames, man."
"I know you," Lance murmured, tightening his arms. "It's just the way you cook."
The noodles tasted a bit burnt, but Lance ate them anyway, hungry from all the laughing. Watching the candles flicker whenever Chris intentionally blew on them, Lance smiled at him, his eyes almost shut from the size of his grin, and Chris kicked at Lance's shins, ducking his head.
They were out in the hot tub a little later. Chris had dragged Lance out onto the snowy deck in nothing but his waterproof watch, wrestling him into the water as Lance squealed, trying to get back inside. Chris eventually picked him up and threw him into it, sliding down next to Lance, who was suddenly blissful in the heat.
"You are the meanest person in the world," Lance said, and Chris smirked, the corner of his mouth turned upward. Leaning over, Lance kissed him and let his hand linger on the back of Chris's neck. Chris tucked himself against Lance's body, sprawled out in the tub. "So."
"So," Chris said, eyes closed. "This is nice."
"Hot," Lance agreed, kissing Chris again, pressing his lips to his temple. Chris leaned in a bit closer, quiet and calm, and Lance didn't want to admit that he loved these times the most, when Chris wore himself out by early afternoon and was peaceful for the rest of the day. Lance learned early on that having sex in the mornings made Chris easier to deal with, since he'd be mellowed out by dinner.
It started snowing while they were in the water. Scrunching up his face, Lance looked to the patio lights, where the huge flakes looked amazing in the shine, beautiful in the way they fluttered softly to the ground. Lance wasn't very familiar with snow, had experienced it for the first time in Europe and then had been too busy to learn to like it.
"The best is, like, around midnight, when it's coming down hard and all the streetlights are on and the world is quiet. It used to be my favourite time. Still is, actually," Chris admitted, an idle hand lifting to stroke through Lance's hair. "Hey. What are we doing for Christmas?"
"My parents are going to Cuba, and Stacy and Ford are doing stuff with his family, so I was hoping you'd have something to do, and I could come," Lance replied, turning his head to look at Chris. "That's okay, right? I mean. I don't want to intrude, because god knows --"
"God knows you're my boyfriend, and my mom already invited you. Jeez, Bass." Chris kissed him then squeezed the back of Lance's head affectionately, dark eyes shimmering in the half-light. "Yeah, man, like, hello. Shit. Did you think I would say no?"
"Well, you know," Lance muttered. "I don't know."
Chris sighed deeply. "Shit. Okay. I'll say it now. I'm sorry it seemed like I was ignoring you this past month. I was busy, and you were busy, and that's just the way things worked out. I'm getting mildly worried that you're so skittish, I mean, about whether or not I'm into this as much as you are. You're, like, my life, Lance. This, us, it's all I have most days. Okay?"
Lance nodded, pressing his lips together, and Chris smiled, running a finger over his jaw.
"You're cute when you're suffering from low self-esteem, you know," Chris said, flicking at Lance's face with his index finger, and Lance idly batted him away, smiling reluctantly when Chris leaned over and licked a line over his cheek. "You might be crazy, but you're mine."
"I'm crazy?" Lance asked, pulling back.
"Oh, wait, that's me," Chris said, standing up and jumping out the water. Lance moved to grab him, but a wet Chris was a slippery Chris, and he was already into the snow, howling, before Lance could do anything. "Bass! Get your ass out here!"
"No way!" Lance shouted, laughing. "Come back here! You're going to freeze!"
Chris came running back and canon-balled into the tub, a hot wave of water knocking Lance back. He was up and over the deck before he realised it, and Chris was hollering in his ear, tumbling them down the steps into the snow.
"Fuck!" Lance cried, on his ass and waist deep in a bitter chill, and Chris jumped on him, covering him with snow. Laughing, Lance tried to get back to the hot tub, convinced his balls were about to climb into his stomach, and he ended up dragging Chris, who was hanging onto his waist, back to the water. Once they were in, Chris grinned like a manic when Lance tried to grab him, dancing around the tub. "Chris! Hold still!"
"Never," Chris vowed, ducking as Lance lunged for him, and Lance sat back, panting hard for breath. Pressed against the wall, Chris positioned himself on the opposite side and smiled hugely. "Admit it, Bass, admit it. That was refreshing."
"You're a," Lance gasped, "you're a fucking abominable snowman!"
Chris raised an eyebrow then chuckled, wrapping himself around Lance and hugging him tightly. Lance grumbled a bit but let him, settling back into the water as Chris kissed him on the shoulders, the neck, the face. "You're such a geek, Bass. You're an inspiration to us all."
"Oh, I just suck at retorts. You're a bigger geek than I'll ever be, Kirkpatrick. Why don't we go inside?" Lance suggested, and they raced into the house then upstairs, Lance getting there first and Chris pinning him to the bed, sitting over him. Lance smiled and lifted his head to kiss him, catching his lips in a deep embrace. Spread out, Lance let himself be pushed to the bed, arching under Chris's touches.
Outside, the snow fell harder.
~~~
Lance woke up naked and freezing, the comforter pulled up to his nose and Chris under him, sprawled on his stomach. The sun shone brightly through the windows, the frost on the glass creating strange crystalline patterns on the wall. Snuggling deeper into Chris, Lance sighed loudly and poked Chris with his nose. He wanted Chris to get out of bed and get him his pants.
"Wake up," Lance said, poking at Chris's cheek with a single finger, and Chris groaned, shaking his head and trying to roll away, but Lance held him still. "Chris, Chris. I want my clothes, and I need you to get them. Please."
"No fucking way, Bass," Chris muttered then flipped over, his eyes cracking open into slits. Rubbing at his face, Chris yawned and blinked. Lance tried pouting, and Chris reached over, pinching his lips together and flattening them. "That doesn't work. You're not Justin, and I posses a will of steel."
"Blowjob," Lance added through squished lips.
A blowjob later, Lance was dressed, and Chris was still in bed, back asleep and snoring. Going downstairs to read, Lance curled up on the sofa, wrapped in blankets. He opened one of magazines, the fire flickering away. Outside, the snow was even higher, but Lance didn't mind so much. It looked pretty.
Eventually, Chris came downstairs, wearing his glasses, and Lance, who had a slight glasses kink, received some incredible morning head from Chris, legs spread wide on the couch as Chris took Lance into his mouth. Afterward, Chris licked his lips clean then sat down, picking up a magazine. With Chris's feet in his lap, Lance idly stroked his hairy legs as they read.
"Tell me something about you that I don't know," Chris said suddenly.
Lance looked over at him and smiled. "Chris, you know everything."
Chris shook his head, adjusting his glasses on his nose and distracting Lance with the movement. "There's something you haven't told me, I'm sure. Think about it for a few minutes, okay? I want to learn something new about you this morning."
Lance nodded and sat back, fingers tracing Chris's ankles, as he went through his list of secrets, anecdotes and life experiences. Chris did this sometimes, though he hadn't in a while, and Lance really was running low on new facts to share with him. It was sweet, though, that Chris seemed concerned with knowing everything about Lance. As Lance was learning, Chris never forgot the stuff he found out either and kept it inside to surprise Lance at later dates.
"Hm," Lance said suddenly, and Chris put down his magazine. Clearing his throat, Lance folded his hand over Chris's foot. "Okay. If I tell you this, you have to promise me you won't turn into a vengeful angel of revenge and mayhem, all right?"
Chris nodded.
"All right. You can store this under the continuing story of Queer Lance, but I swear to god, Chris, if you make a big deal, I'm going to be very mad at you, and I don't want that. Okay? If you're a dick about this, I'm not going to play in the snow with you anymore."
Chris grinned. "Ah, Bass. You know how to use your bargaining tools."
"You know it," Lance said, slapping at Chris's shin. "Okay. You know how I said my first gay sex experience was when I was nineteen with that friend of JC's who really liked slinkies and collected them?" Chris nodded, laughing. "Well, that's technically incorrect."
"How incorrect?" Chris asked, eyes narrow.
"Um. Probably off by about six years," Lance mumbled, ready to dig his nails into Chris's foot if he even tried to move, but, to his credit, Chris stayed still. Lance looked up into Chris's obviously angry face and added the rest, "and the guy was sixteen."
Chris twitched.
"All right, listen. I'm not traumatised or anything, and there wasn't any penetration until I was fifteen. It was just a thing we did sometimes after school. He really helped me get comfortable with things, and I swear to god, if he wasn't there, I would have gone nuts. Okay? I'm fine," Lance insisted, rubbing Chris's legs encouragingly.
"Are you sure?" Chris finally asked, and Lance nodded. "Well, if you're sure."
"I'm sure," Lance insisted, and Chris nodded, picking up his magazine and going back to reading. Lance sighed and ducked out from under his legs, going to make breakfast instead. When it was almost done, Chris came over and hugged Lance from behind. Lance glanced back. "You okay?"
Chris nodded and let go to sit at the table, and Lance settled on his lap when he brought the plates, sliding over a bit so Chris could reach his food. With Chris's arm wrapped around his waist, hand splayed low on his hip, they ate in silence.
~~~
"Snowman. Le bonhomme de neige. Uh. Um." Chris frowned. "Well, rest assured, I'm really sure I know both the Spanish and German equivalents but damned if I can't remember them, but whatever. We're going to make a nice alternative family of snow-creatures," Chris announced, already patting the heavy snow together into a fair-sized ball. Lance eyed the weapon suspiciously, pushing his hat out of his eyes. "Oh, fuck, Bass. I'm not going to waste this on you. Now, get to it!"
Lance made a snow-Chris, which was short and stout, and Chris made him take snow off the sides, claiming the proportions were off. Lance humoured him, if only because he was sensitive about his weight, and walked around back to sculpt a firm, tight ass.
Chris was busy making a snow-Lance, sitting cross-legged in the snow as he formed a considerable bulge at the front, which Lance tried to knock off, mortified. They wrestled in the snow until Chris sat on Lance's back and said he wasn't changing it, so Lance found a bunch of sticks and stuck them in snow-Chris's head then took two and shoved them in his chin.
Chris, never to be outdone by anyone, least of all the man he was sleeping with, broke off two chunks of pine needles, putting them in snow-Lance's eye sockets. Lance added the snow back to snow-Chris's sides, adding more than was originally there, and Chris finally called a truce.
Lance rolled two balls of snow and stuck four sticks into each, calling them pugs, and Chris worked on snow-Dirk, who looked suspiciously like a long blob of snow with no distinguishing features. Lance brushed the snow off his mitts as he stepped back, and Chris came up beside him, patting his ass.
"God, we are the biggest losers ever," Chris decided, shaking his head, "a pair of freaky-looking snowmen, with two fat dogs and a rat."
"Our quaint little family," Lance said fondly, hooking his chin over Chris's shoulder, and Chris tilted his head, smirking. Lance kissed him quick on the frozen cheek. "I love you, Chris. Like, a lot. You're the best boyfriend ever." He leaned closer, brushing his mouth against the hat-covered lump of Chris's ear as he felt the romance rise in him. "Let's go inside, lover."
"Let's," Chris agreed, squeezing Lance's ass.
When Chris was naked and Lance was only in a pair of snow-pants, and when Chris was panting as Lance worked between his legs and licked everywhere, and when Lance was holding Chris's legs apart with his hands and rimming with joy, Lance thought he actually liked Minnesota, maybe even liked the snow, but before he could say it, Chris begged loudly to be fucked, and Lance never could turn him down on that front.
So he didn't say it.
~~~
Later on, as they sat together in a big chair by the window, the fireplace burning behind them and the snow falling gently in front of them, Lance leaned back and asked, "okay, it's your turn. Tell me something I don't know. Tell me why you like snow so much. I don't understand how you possibly could. It's so cold."
Chris chuckled, a thumb tracing lazy patterns on Lance's belly. "There were some times when I thought I was going to freeze to death, especially when we lived in that trailer, but I never felt as close to my mom than when we were huddled together, trying to survive. She used to sing to me, you know, to take my mind off the cold. She taught me how by doing that."
Lance nodded, folding his palms over Chris's hands and snuggling deeper into his embrace. Outside, the snow was getting heavy, huge puffy flakes coating the world. Behind him, Chris leaned over and pressed a kiss to the back of Lance's neck.
"When I was eight, my mom bought me skates and a hockey stick. I knew they were used, I mean, everything I got was secondhand, but it didn't matter. It was all I wanted in life, so she got them for me. I spent hours a day for years skating on ponds with that stick, playing hockey. It was usually just me, but I'd never been happier. It was the only thing I ever asked for. Still, every winter, I come back north to play hockey with myself."
Lance looked up. "Can I come?"
"You want to?" Chris asked, and Lance nodded, squeezing his thigh. Smiling, Chris pressed his lips to Lance's check, nuzzling him. "Well, sure. Next time we're up here, that's what we'll do. We'll play some hockey, and I'll kick your ass."
"I'll be there just to look pretty anyway," Lance replied, grinning. Chris tucked his face against Lance's neck and smiled, and Lance tipped his head back, kissing as much of Chris as he could reach. "I'm so happy right now, Chris. I take it all back. I love Minnesota. This is the best place I've ever been."
"Yeah?" Chris asked, squeezing Lance so tightly that Lance was sure he cracked a rib. "Thank fucking god, Bass. Jeez. You took years off my life, man, when you said you hated being here, like, the snow and Minnesota and winter. Oh, jeez, man. God. If you ever fucking do that again to me, I'm going to dye all your precious business shirts pink, I'm telling you this now, then I'll shave your ferret and sell the pictures, I swear."
"Uh," Lance said, baffled, "um. Sorry?"
"Happy Anniversary, you fuck," Chris said, shaking Lance, and Lance looked at him stupidly. Chris grinned. "I bought this damn cabin, okay? It belongs to us, and I bought it, for you and me, and then you hated snow and winter, and I was, like, freaking out because it fucking cost me a lot, and I'm freaking out now because you just totally redeemed yourself, and we have to leave tomorrow, and I'm not ready to go."
Lance blinked. "You bought me a house?"
"Well, yeah," Chris said in a way that made Lance feel like an absolute moron, which was all right, because Lance was pretty willing to agree that he was. "It's how I tell people I love them. I buy them houses. Come on, Bass, this is a previously established pattern. Like, man, this is where I've been for the last month, trying to get this all together, and I know you were freaking out because you thought I was leaving you, which was so far from the truth, but I wanted it to be a surprise, which is why I told you we were going to the Bahamas then I changed my mind because I really wanted to bring you here, to our house. Martha Stewart is an absolute bitch, by the way, she totally tried to get me to add lace to the bathroom, and I wouldn't do it because, like, hello, ugly as fuck, and she overcharged me, I'm sure of it."
Lance didn't know what to do so he laughed until he was gasping, pressing his hands to his mouth. He jumped around in his seat, too overwhelmed to deal with the situation normally. When he burst into tears and started sobbing, Chris just massaged his arms and told him unfunny jokes, kissing away the drops.
"Hey, baby, it's all right," Chris murmured, stroking Lance's hair gently.
"I know, I know. I'm just," Lance said, waving his hand around, and he started crying again, wiping his face on the blankets. "I'm just. So fucking in love with you right now, Chris, and I just. I just don't know how to deal with it. Just give me a second here."
Chris sat back, keeping his arms low around Lance's waist, and Lance rubbed at his eyes as he stared outside, the snow falling down and the world covered in white. It was probably the most beautiful thing that Lance had ever seen in his life, and he knew it was Chris who made all the difference in a Minnesotan winter.
Fin.
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